The Dragon Retreat
by The Nightosphere
Summary: The potions master-Professor Novak! is found out by Voldemort. No longer a spy, he searches for a safe haven-and finds one. Charlie Weasley always thought Novak didn't think he was worth challenging. Cas/Charlie future smexy stuff and unicorns XD
1. Chapter 1

Note: Crossover! Harry Potter/Supernatural. Pairing: Castiel/Charlie W. Why? Because when I imagine Charlie, I imagine Jensen Ackles/Dean. Idk why, but I do know.

Ratings: R The third chapter will have gay sex, between two very smexy guys, so there's your warning.

This is a crazy little AU crossover that generally makes no sense. It's just one of those fantastations I've been having. The storyline has been adapted for fanfiction, as my usual fantasy stuff is just to angsty and predictable. I've tried to make it short. This isn't supposed to be a great work of genius, with amazing plot and character portrayals. Take from it what you will. I do not own Supernatural or Harry Potter or any characters thereof.

Chapter One

The dank room smelled acidic, and Professor Novak found himself groaning over the stack of potions assignments he was forced to undertake. _Alas, if I could just give those snot-nosed prats detention to do this instead..._

Castiel's oft linear mind began to wonder, not for the first time this week. He squeezed his sore kneecap, the left one, and internally sighed. The meetings with Voldemort were not going overtly well. He wasn't as healthy as he was at the start of the war-if he had ever been so was doubtful to begin with.

_Harry Potter..._

Castiel's mind grimaced as the face of the boy who lived shot through his mind like a heathen bludger, beating down his self-control until it was merely a barbed-wire fence. A poorly made barbed-wire fence. The former angel couldn't imagine why he had been thrown into this world, this world he had hidden from muggles for centuries. He wondered how Dean and Sam were, now that they had successfully seen him stripped of the souls of purgatory.

Castiel had been confused when it had happened. At first, he was sure of himself, sure he would finally see a never-ending death. Alas, he opened his eyes in the discomfort of a very old wiry bed sitting in a desolate, empty house. Alone, he he sat in silence for hours...before they came. The memories...the life. The weary existence of a lone potions master without friends or family. Harry had not entered Hogwarts at that point. Infact, the idea of Voldemort still sitting outside people's houses with his minions was a far off fear or child's nightmare. He threw himself into the work of a wizard. It took a while for the memories of what this life was to settle in, and guide him. When they did, he sometimes couldn't bear them. He missed Sam and Dean, Dean especially. But with the passing of years, and the political role he adopted in the wizardring school, he found his thoughts shifting less and less to them.

The stack of doom towering over Castiel beckoned as his bluest of blue eyes shifted over them. _Papers need grading, _his scratchy voice groaned in his head. Bending over the dull parchment of Hermione Granger's exceptionally insightful review of dragon liver uses, he buried himself in letters with a large, emerald quill and shimmering red ink.

One Monday morning, while the weather was perfect and every student with any sense of decensy wanted to be outside, bitter Gryffindors clambered into the dungeons.

"Mr. Potter," Novak bitterly cast his eyes over his angry Occlumency student. "five points from your cheek for exploding Weasley's concoction."

"But, sir-"

"Silence, Mr. Potter."

Harry's thin face and round eyes were full of contempt. He no longer bothered hiding his loath from behind his scales. Green eyes glimmering with malice, he muttered, "Yes, sir."

Hermione and Ron squeezed themselves as much as they could into their work, dicing and grinding various plants and animal parts. Today was no different from yesterday, and yesterday would be no different from tomorrow. He would play this insufferable game until God let him die. Until he let them all die. Even if he had to do it alone, hated, miserable, and sad.

"Cassssstiel," Voldemort hissed, his yellow slits of eyes scanning him carefully. "I'm afraid that I've grown weary."

Castiel cleared his throat, "of what, exactly, sir?"

"The end of the school term is at hand, and my plan to lure Harry did not work properly. It makes me believe that I cannot trust you after all."

Castiel wanted to scream, "I'm an angel, of course you couldn't!" He focused his eyes on Voldemort's. "I tried my best, my lord. I'm unaware of how the plan went wrong-"

"You interfered."

Castiel's blood went cold. He had tried for weeks to avoid this...to carry out Dumbledore's plans. However, he wasn't the person that had once filled these black, leather shoes. That man had disappeared into the crevices at the end of time, and his robes were filled with a different man. A different man, with weaknesses he didn't know he even had. Until now.

"I'm sorry, my lord, I have done all I can for you. I am your obedient servant, master."

"Yessss," Voldemort, held up his hand.

Castiel swallowed. He was intended to kiss the monster's ring. It was not for the first time, but it pained him greatly anyhow. Bending over, letting his eyes adjust to the fleshy, amphibian hand held gently out for him, he lowered his lips to the obscene ring before him. Pain. Horrible agonizing pain stabbed the center of his spine and spread out in tinier veins before bursting with explosion.

_ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!_

It seemed like hours before Castiel could see again. His jaw was sore from being clamped open in a silent scream, and his limbs were sprawled. Blood dripped from his nose.

"Master, I-"

"You disappoint me, Cassstiel."

Castiel's knees quaked, and although his robes hid it he felt all could see. He had failed. Voldemort held his wand out sadly for him, waiting for the perfect moment of excecution. Castiel felt anger, and for the first time...the vague but comforting company of his wings.

"I think not."

Voldemort sneered, stepped forward, "Avada-!"

_swish_

Castiel stood alone outside Grimauld Place. The gloomy atmosphere was emphasized by the rolling thunder and lightening. Realizing he was a standing target, he hurried to the door with his wand drawn. There was no telling how long it would be before Death Eaters were waiting outside Black's house to kill him.

"Novak."

Castiel grimaced past the blood caking his face. Sirius Black stood scrutinizing him in the kitchen of his house. "What the hell happened to you, you greasy bastard?"

Castiel scowled. "Voldemort no longer trusts me. He knows I thwarted his attempt to use you to get to Potter."

"So, what, you're not in the club anymore?"

Castiel leered, rolling his eyes, and continued. "I need to stay here until Dumbledore contacts me."

Sirius wasn't happy with the idea of Castiel hogging breathing space. "Hmmm, I don't know. Throwing you outside and letting the nasty Death Eaters deal with you sounds pretty tempting..."

Castiel started to launch into a heated shouting match when Molly Weasley walked in.

"Castiel!" she threw her arms out and hurriedly filled the kitchen with her bustling personality. "What in heavens name are you doing here in the middle of the night? Are you hurt? I'll go get the medical kit-"

"I have my own potions, Molly," Castiel quickly stopped her.

"Voldemort knows about Castiel not being a good little Death Eater. Threw him out of the tree house."

"Silence!"

"Grease fuck!"

"Jackass!"

"Silence, the both of you!"

Castiel straightened, rubbing his hand down his face. He was too tired to put up with members of the Order having pesky theatrics. He just wanted to tell Dumbledore he was done or dead, and lie down. "I'm leaving," he threw his hand down to swing nonchalantly alongside his robes.

Molly's face steered itself for battle, "Oh no you're not-"

"What the hell?"

The three raised their eyebrows.

"Oh, um...sorry, Mum."

"You should be, Charlie Weasley!"

"Professor?"

Castiel dared himself to look up. His stomach lurched and he felt like vomiting, only he figured that would make things much worse. Two familiar, green eyes stared back at him. He pretended that they were longing. Although, they probably were.

He had stayed back, much longer than they had thought he had, when he heard it. He had passed by everyone, bidding them farewell as respectively as he deemed necessary. But he had not acknowledged Charlie Weasley. He never did. He couldn't bring himself to look at him sometimes, merely from the lack of air he would suffer from if he did.

"Why is Charlie so upset?" Potter asked the twins.

"Oh," Fred waved a hand, "he always gets like that-"

"when Novak doesn't look at him." George finished.

"Why would anyone be upset about that?" Potter asked bewildered.

"It seems to be some type of challenge..."

"like Novak only puts down the ones worth challenging-"

"in Charlie's head, anyway."

Potter had nodded, still confused as to why anyone would want Novak to call them names and take points from them all the time.

Castiel's throat felt dry as he cautiously peered at Charlie. It was tempting just to throw a random insult just to make that look go away. But he resisted. He resisted because he couldn't bear to treat someone with those eyes that way...someone with Dean's eyes.

Castiel turned back around and headed for the table. "I'm going to make some tea, I do not want to be disturbed."

"This is my house, you son-of-a-bitch!"

"Sirius!"

"Molly!"

Castiel fumed past the dried blood and tea at the three companions before sneaking off to a lone, decrepid room. He would tell Dumbledore the news, and then he would disappear. He just needed to decide where.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

In which Castiel skips off to Romania for no reasonable reason and masturbates.

When Castiel woke up, it was time more lunch. He could hear everyone laughing and joking downstairs, and the happy chatter of the twins introducing a new torture device into the household.

He wearily headed for his trunk, something that he unshrunk before going to bed, and gathered a few of his things. After cleaning himself up, he cautiously headed for the kitchen.

"Well, look who Lucifer just dragged in!" Sirius sneered at the disheveled potions master.

Swallowing, Castiel inched toward the table with his eyes narrowed at his enemy. Everyone awkwardly shuffled around as he made himself a cup of tea before sitting down.

"You look horrible as always, Black. Glad to see you trying to follow the Black tradition and look as much like a mangy coward as possible-"

Sirius' eyes bulged and he made to grab Castiel's throat, but was caught around the shoulders by Lupin. "There, there," the anemic man said briskly, winking, "no need to start jumping over tables."

Sirius growled, straightening his coat and sitting roughly back down. Castiel sipped his tea and looked up long enough to see every face turned toward him in a confused, cold stare. Sighing, he placed the cup on the table and sneered, "Where's Dumbledore? I'm sure he would have come by now-I sit him my patronus."

Lupin cocked his head, "He hasn't said anything."

Castiel scoffed. Of course he wouldn't have said anything-the man never tells anyone anything. Angry, he grabbed his cup and a biscuit before sweeping out of the kitchen and fleeing back to the dark hole he was currently keeping residence in.

He needed to get away. Away from Hogwarts, Dumbledore, Potter, Voldemort-everyone. He hated this mockery of what he used to be. A powerful being that could have squashed Voldemort with his pinky, and spanked Dumbledore at his prime. Now he was just a pathetic wizard with no one to turn to, and nowhere to go. He scratched his head, wondering why his wings had appeared. Could he do it again? Just swoosh, and be out of this story at last? He had come to hate this universe...the one in which Sam and Dean were probably living normal muggle, Apple Pie lives. He sunk onto his bed, ignoring the pain in his body from Voldemort's curse and years of restless work. He was tired. He just wanted somewhere to go.

The windows shook as the twins let loose another explosion, which Molly screamed at furiously. Castiel ducked as a piece of wood from the wall was torn off and sent spiraling at his head. Down the hall, Bill, Fleur, and Charlie ducked as well. Dust covered their heads and made them wheeze.

"Professor," Bill nodded. "Remus wanted to know if you were coming down for dinner tonight...Mum's making a feast."

"I don't make plans on dining with mop heads and idiots," Castiel snidely replied.

Fleur grimaced, but Bill just smiled, coldly. "Then I'm sorry I bothered you, sir."

Nodding, the young couple shuffled past. Charlie averted his eyes and continued toward Castiel quietly. The two shared an uncomfortable silence before moving on.

"Professor-"

Castiel stopped, wary of the voice reaching out to him.

Charlie stood alone at the end of the hallway. "We still need someone to brew a potion at the reserve...if you're interested."

Castiel bit his bottom lip. He was tempted, so very tempted. He could go "brew" potions in Romania all summer and watch Charlie Weasley run around in dragon hide outfits with slutty Romanian girls.

It would almost be like old times.

Castiel looked away, toward the head of an unfortunate houself. "Your offer sounds interesting, Weasley. I shall give it some...thought."

Charlie's face screwed up into one of his perplexed looks, and Castiel figured he might've passed off as having severe constipation.

"I'll let you know in the morning."

"Uh...so, you're wanting to leave when I do?"

Castiel cocked his head to one side, "Perhaps. That wouldn't be a problem, would it?"

Charlie shook his head, "Nah, I-uh-it's fine with me."

Castiel gave him a curt nod before power walking back to his room. He felt like sticking his head in the toilet. _What had he just done? _

The trip to Romania was uneventful, and sneaky. Castiel told everyone he was going to a cottage he owned, and that he was not to be disturbed for any reason whatsoever. However, he instead met Charlie at an airport in France where they exchanged an awkward greeting and silence.

Castiel found himself thinking of the night they had shared each other's company during the Triwizard Tournament. Some wizards had gotten themselves burned, and the dragons were unhappy, so Castiel was sent to help deal with the drama. After handing out ointments and potions, he had sat down and soon found himself with Charlie Weasley. They had sat by the fire, shivering from time to time, never saying a word. But whenever he craned his head and saw Charlie looking back at him, he felt he didn't have to. Those eyes stared back at him, longingly. Castiel drank in the sight of the young dragon trainer, looking at him in a way he had never been looked at before. Even Dean had never stared him down this way, and they had stared a lot. This was a different stare, a dominating one. Castiel had felt his palms grow sweaty and his pants tighter, just from feeling those green eyes scan his over-clothed body with want.

He was now filled with mixture of pain, lust, anxiety, and adventure. He was standing in Charlie Weasley's house, and the object of his desire was getting him an appointment with the manager of a very irate dragon named Rocky. Castiel was nervous about this-he was going out of line by doing this. He wasn't just abandoning the damned story-line, he was fucking with it. Though he didn't know how far he had fucked it up by the time he was in his third year of it. But he was sure it was a lot.

Charlie was a kind host, and left him alone so that he could work. However, both of them noticed how little Castiel was spending time on work. He tended to spend more time watching the television Charlie owned, or sitting outside by the small pond. He drew often, though Charlie didn't know what.

"It's nice outside," Charlie said one day as he leaned to look out the window. The pond was peaceful, with ripples of water moving in tendrils as the wind caressedit.

"It is," Castiel agreed. He had just finished bottling a potion and several dragon parts. "I think I'd like to swim."

Charlie swallowed, his face drawing up in a smile. "Go ahead. I'd like to too."

Castiel's eyes fell to the floor. He wasn't sure about letting Charlie see him naked. The thought made him nervous, which was strange, but it did.

The two made their way to the pond. As Castiel stripped down his underwear, he hoped Charlie didn't turn around and see him. He was the smaller of the two, but he also still had a bruise of his ribs and hip. When his socks were off, he turned back around. Charlie was all ready in the pool, moving his arms and facing the other direction. Castiel swallowed his saliva and sank into the water from the wooden walkway. His hair prickled as the cool water pierced his nerves, causing goosebumps to appear and his nipples to perk up. Castiel sank lower.

"It's, uh, really nice out here." Charlie mumbled, not sure of what to say. He hadn't gotten used to seeing his former potions master standing in his kitchen making chicken, or watching the telly. Or listening to the sounds of his wary moans as he slept. Charlie turned around to see him and felt his heart stop.

Castiel's hair was in disarray from the water, which dripped off him in tiny puddles as he splashed it, innocently, across his chest. The sunlight hit his eyes perfectly, and made them shine with new life. New beauty. Charlie's chest tightened as he realized what was happening to him, again.

The pair sat in amicable silence, relaxing in the water. Castiel briefly looked at Charlie and died a little death, craving the touch of the firm dragon trainer once and for all. But he knew that couldn't happen, it was a horrible thing to contemplate. But he couldn't stop himself from doing so anyway. It crossed his mind that one of the many things he never valued was a lessong Dean Winchester once tried to teach him about sex. Albeit, he did kiss a demon once, but kissing couldn't come close to the need for release that he was experiencing. He wanted to be taken, by Charlie, now. Sighing, and wary of getting out of the water soon, Castiel relaxed and swam as far away from Charlie as possible. He would just have to take things into his own hands. He just hoped his lonliness wouldn't betray him first.

Castiel waited for Charlie's snoring to begin. He had worked late on one of his assignments from the dragon reserve, and went to bed after Charlie had gotten out of the shower. He pondered how one might really accomplish masturbation. He had tried it a few times over the years, more or less out of curiosity. However, he had never accomplished anything of note, or anything that reassured him. He had always walked away from it feeling more empty than before; thus, he had given up.

But tonight felt different. The moment he stretched himself out, naked, on Charlie's extra bed and listened to the horrid snoring next door, he felt it. The thing he had missed while in the safety of his dungeons, behind a locked door with protection charms. _The danger of being caught_. He left the walls uncharmed and the door unlocked. It made him feel ridiculous, and turned on. He didn't know if he was attractive to anyone else. He tended to believe that he wasn't, seeing as how his appearance usually caused others to shrink back. But he didn't care tonight. He laid down flat at first, unsure of where to begin. He wanted to take his time. The thoughts of Charlie waking up and coming to his room urged his hand down to his hips. He was tender. But the soft touch of the pads of his fingertips were enough to get him started. He concentrated on going to Charlie at work, wearing nothing but a robe and boots. Charlie would push him against a wall, part his legs, and rub his hands all over him. Castiel began stroking himself eagerly, grinning foxishly as the imagined feel of Charlie's hips dug into his own. He whimpered, craving more, and reached recklessly toward the nightstand for a small jar of something smooth and creamy. He coated his hand with it as fast as he could before spreading his bent legs and poking his anus with one, tentative finger. "Charlie," was barely a whisper. His soft eyelashes fluttered as he sighed, dreaming of taking Charlie's member into his mouth and being rewarded with soft groans. Castiel pushed his finger up into himself and gently prodded the space. It felt alien to him, and painful. But if it was something Fantasy Charlie wanted, he would do it. Castiel's hips rose in an effort to make it more comfortable, and he began moving them with his hands as they worked. He lasted for ten minutes, before his stroking and finger-prodding sent him into an orgasm. He gasped, unsure of how hard and fast his heart was beating, as cum sped across his navel and leaked across him.

He blinked, wary that he might've been too loud. He had lost control and hadn't been paying attention when he began to finger himself. He feared, and obscenely hoped, Charlie was sitting in the next room with a slack-jawed expression on his face.


End file.
